


Adora of Locksley

by clottedcreamfudge



Category: She-Ra and the Princesses of Power (2018)
Genre: A WILD RIDE, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Historical, Best Friend Squad (She-Ra), Best Friend Squad: FOREST EDITION, F/F, Glimbow if you squint I guess, Hot Mess, I wish I could say this was crack but unfortunately I spent a lot of time and effort on it, I’m sorry but this is an important tag, Legends, Mentions of past abuse, Now with a playlist!, Outdoor Sex, Robin Hood - Freeform, Robin Hood AU, Sexual Content, The AU I threatened you all with has arrived, Thievery, What Have I Done, Whispering Woods, and other such cliches, catradora, come for the lesbians, complete butchery of the Robin Hood myth, stay also for the lesbians
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-07
Updated: 2020-10-07
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:07:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26879449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clottedcreamfudge/pseuds/clottedcreamfudge
Summary: AKA The Robin Hood AU you certainly didn't ask for.*What nobody seems to get, when they whisper about Robin Hood and their Merry Band, all of them presumably banished from their lands by the cruel and calculating King Prime and the toadying Sheriff Hordak, is that she absolutely loves it here.There is almost nothing about normal life that Adora misses.
Relationships: Adora/Catra (She-Ra), Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Comments: 102
Kudos: 326
Collections: Shera





	Adora of Locksley

**Author's Note:**

> Please note that, if you're confused about when this is set while you're reading... join the club! I have no idea! It's meant to be completely nonsensical, so just enjoy the ride and try not to find reason where there isn't any, buddy.
> 
> Recommended Listening:
> 
> Gavin DeGraw – Something Worth Saving  
> Gavin DeGraw – Over-Rated  
> Martin Harley – Take What You Want  
> Martin Harley – Dealer  
> Gregory Porter – No Love Dying  
> Gregory Porter – Holding On  
> Gregory Porter – Consequence of Love  
> John-Allison Weiss – How To Be Alone  
> Sara Bareilles – Gravity  
> Liane Carroll – Picture in a Frame  
> TeamMate - Until You Find Me

Adora doesn’t really remember a time she didn’t live in the Whispering Woods. Okay, that’s an exaggeration, but even before she was run out of her home, she was here more often than was probably wise for a child; she knows this forest like the back of her hand, for all that it can be treacherous to those with less respect for the dense foliage and winding paths.

She does sometimes wonder how her parents would feel about all of this - you know, if they weren’t dead. The Lady of Locksley, forced out of her ancestral home, made to sleep in a tree and catch squirrels for dinner. She imagines they’d be shocked, and that they would - perhaps - pity her.

What nobody seems to get, when they whisper about Robin Hood and their Merry Band, all of them presumably banished from their lands by the cruel and calculating King Prime and the toadying Sheriff Hordak, is that she absolutely _loves_ it here.

“You did _not_ just eat the last bit of squirrel,” she says with a gasp, prodding Bow across the fire with a long and very sharp stick. He shrieks and topples backwards off the log he’s sitting on, which almost makes up for the fact that he is _totally_ holding the last bit of squirrel. It’s literally in his hand. 

Okay, so she _mostly_ loves it here.

“Nope,” Bow says innocently, shoving the strip of meat into his mouth and blinking appealingly at her. He looks like a hamster. A vile, traitorous hamster.

“I won that fair and square,” Adora whines, folding her arms crossly. They’d had a ‘best of three’ competition before dinner, which was kind of stupid because it was common knowledge that Bow was the better archer, and Adora was the better swordswoman. Frankly, just the arm wrestle would have been sufficient. Neither of them could really avoid showing off though, and Glimmer had egged them on.

“Bow hereby forfeits the right to sleep in the canopy tonight,” Glimmer intones, holding up the battered old rule book they’ve been using to write down their own laws for the past two years. “When someone makes a _totally dick move_ , they must sleep in the Cave of Shadows unless they who have been wronged provide a full pardon. So it is written.” Bow groans and writhes on the floor of the forest.

“Aw, come on Glimmer!” She winks at Adora but keeps a straight face as she stands and presses the rule book to her chest.

“So. It. Is. Written. Do you challenge the old ways, Master Archer Bow?”

“Urgh… _No_ , I guess not.” Glimmer nods then turns to Adora with a dramatic bow.

“And you, Master Swordswoman Adora, aka Robin Hood, aka _that sexy one in the cloak_ -” Adora stifles a laugh, because that was literally _one time_ and it was a drunk they’d seen on the way back from a raid- “are you willing to pardon this ungrateful swine, that he may join his compatriots in the canopy?” Adora puts on her most serious thinking face, frowning and stroking her chin as she ‘hm’s thoughtfully.

Finally, she stands and bows deeply.

“Master Archer Bow, you are hereby fully pardoned for your _heinous crime_ \- namely reneging on our _totally valid deal_ that I could have the last bit of squirrel. You may sleep in the canopy, provided you do not kick me in the night, and _also_ provided you stop writhing around right now like some… freaky caterpillar.”

“I accept your terms,” Bow says gravely, stilling at once and shooting Adora a double thumbs-up. Glimmer claps her hands together once.

“The contract is sealed.” Then she and Adora sit down and Bow pulls himself up off the floor to join them. “Seriously though, Bow, supremely uncool.” He hangs his head in shame.

“I thought Adora was gonna fight me for it!” Adora throws her hands up in the air.

“We did fight for it! I won!” Glimmer snorts.

“Okay, okay - I’ll catch a couple of pheasants tomorrow and make that fancy mushroom stew you guys like,” he says with a grin, and _yeah_ , that’s what Adora was angling for. Apologies in the form of Bow’s awesome cooking.

“ _Yes_ ,” she hisses, punching the air with one victorious fist, and then they’re all back to laughing around the fire in the fading light of evening.

Seriously, what could be better than this? There is _nothing_ about normal life that Adora misses.

* * *

Later that evening, in the canopy, Adora finds herself unable to sleep. Taking care not to knock Glimmer or Bow’s hammocks, she twists out of her own and climbs down the trunk of the tree before silently dropping to the floor. The night is as quiet as they come in the middle of the Whispering Woods - which is to say that there’s nothing quiet about it; there’s a low, peaceful level of activity that gives the background hum of Etheria depth here.

Adora makes her way to the nearby stream, which serves both as sanitation and drinking water, and sits on a flat rock on the bank; the stream doesn’t rush here, but the low babble of liquid movement is soothing.

She pulls a photograph from her pocket and traces the folds etched into the paper by time and repetition. It’s almost falling apart, she realises as she opens it up; she’ll have to be more careful. Maybe look at it less. Maybe.

She sighs softly as she traces the face in the photograph with a finger.

There is _almost_ nothing about normal life that Adora misses.

* * *

“You gonna tell me where you went off to at arse o’clock in the morning?” Glimmer asks, plonking herself down next to Adora in front of the newly-stoked fire. Adora grimaces and almost turns to look for Bow, before remembering he’ll be off catching them food for most of the morning so they can salt and store some of it for the weeks ahead. Last night’s squirrel had been the last of their preserved meat.

“Just, y’know,” Adora says vaguely, fluttering her hand about a bit to indicate further vagueness. “Having a stroll. In the moonlight.” She can feel Glimmer staring at her but Adora can’t bring herself to look over; Glimmer knows there’s only one thing she really ever lies about.

“Adora, do you know why Bow and I followed you out here?” Adora tries not to wince. When they’d come to her in the forest not a week after she’d been forced out of her home, she’d tried to make them go back to their families; they’d followed her for days until she’d relented. She sometimes wonders if she should have tried harder.

“Because you both know I’m a hopeless case?” she jokes, aiming for levity and missing it by a mile. Glimmer huffs out a laugh and prods the fire with a stick before she continues.

“Bow and I were happy with our families, before - but then you left and everything changed. Our parents saw right away that we were going to start causing trouble, start fighting back… My mum worried about me getting into mischief, saying something stupid to the wrong person, getting beaten up - or worse.” Adora can believe that. Glimmer’s all fire and righteous anger, in spite of her small frame. “Bow’s dads love him and his brothers _so much_ , and of course they never wanted him to fight but they also knew they’d raised a man who wouldn’t stick around to watch his people become victims without doing something about it. So our parents let us both go, because they knew we could do more from out here than we could possibly do from in there. We came out here - followed _you_ \- because we’re all the same, Adora. We’re not going down without a fight.”

Adora feels like crying, but she bites the inside of her cheek and nods stiffly instead.

“Bow hasn’t guessed that you left someone behind,” Glimmer says softly, after a moment of quiet. Adora closes her eyes. “I think because we got to bring each other along for the ride it just never occurred to him - and you were always so _secretive_. But I figured it out a while ago. So if you ever want to talk about it… talk about _them_ … I’m here. Okay?”

Adora hugs her so hard she feels like something might shatter, but Glimmer hugs her back just as fiercely, and by the time Bow returns to camp later in the day - proudly carrying several pheasants and a young deer - the tear tracks on her cheeks have dried away to nothing.

* * *

The name ‘Robin Hood’ wasn’t Adora’s idea. Sure, she needed some kind of alias if she was going to be sneaking around stealing from the rich and giving to the poor, but it hadn’t really been at the top of her list of priorities. 

When this had first started, Adora had been seventeen. She and her ‘Merry Band’ had been looting a local nobleman’s house - a supporter of the usurper of the throne, and therefore a worthy target - and had very nearly been caught by a local police officer. Glimmer had managed to knock him out with a well-placed jewel to the back of the head (seriously, this nobleman had gems big enough to knock out grown men - how were _they_ the bad guys here?) and they’d escaped in the nick of time.

The newspapers went _wild_. The Bright Moon Herald got the scoop, being the biggest paper in the largest kingdom on this continent; Adora had always liked them, since they did everything within their power to stay on the right side of the law, while subtly slamming the current ruler. Prime might have taken over several kingdoms from his cousin Razz while she was off doing peace talks, but not everyone was happy with the change - especially as he seemed to be of the mind that it was permanent. The Herald, for those who could read between the lines, were certainly on the side of the people - and Razz.

Someone had managed to get a picture of her. Even now, she can remember the moment the stranger had managed to capture: she’d ushered Glimmer and Bow on ahead of her with the loot before climbing out the window herself, dropping into a crouch once she was close enough to the ground. She hadn’t noticed anyone nearby, too intent on getting the hell out of there, but when the picture was published - a shadowy figure, cloaked, crouching low to the earth and shouldering a large sword… Well. The people of Bright Moon and beyond were more than creative enough to come up with their own stories.

Nobody could tell who was under that hooded cloak, so they chose ‘Robin’ as a safely gender-neutral name, meaning ‘fame-bright’; she appreciated the thought behind that at least. The ‘Hood’ part? Lazy writing, in her opinion, but there wasn’t much she could do about it. The name stuck.

And now, two years later, she was a living legend. 

“Hey, living legend,” Glimmer says dryly from where she’s poring over maps by the fire. “Wanna give us lowly peasants a hand over here?” Adora flushes; she knows Glimmer and Bow don’t mind the ridiculous names the public give her, but they still tease her relentlessly about that particular title and the weird fame that comes with it. Adora doesn’t mind the limelight, per se - the people she’s screwing over can’t hurt anyone to get to her really, even if they _do_ find out who she is - but it does feel kind of awkward. 

Bow and Glimmer are another story entirely. Their families have done everything they can to protect the whereabouts of their children, as well as keeping themselves safe; Angella, Glimmer’s mother, even went so far as to have a public funeral, claiming that her daughter had died in a freak wood chopping accident.

If anyone found out they were here… Adora suppresses a shiver, then shakes off her malaise and helps Glimmer plan their next raid. There are more important things at stake, she reminds herself.

“The Friars and the Scarlets badly need our help,” Glimmer’s saying to Bow as Adora sidles up next to them. “Both of the families have been financially crippled by these new taxes, and there are kids in both households that need serious medical attention.”

“How’s Will holding up?” Will Scarlet had been a childhood friend of Adora’s; he’d almost come with her to the forest, but she’d made him stay, mindful of his parents' need for help around the house, and how sickly his younger siblings were. She thinks it was the right decision, but she has no doubt Will still resents her for it. He’d always been one to hold a grudge. Bow sighs and runs a hand through his hair.

“Will’s absolutely fine - he’s tough. But Annabelle and Charlotte are both having trouble with their asthma, and they can’t afford replacement medication for their inhalers. The Friars just need to be able to pay for a few doctor’s visits so they can get Henry back on his feet.” Adora sighs and rubs her eyes.

“Right, just this once… We’re gonna split up.”

“That’s a terrible idea,” Bow says flatly, and yeah - it kind of is. But they have limited time and what she’s proposing has the potential to work.

“Hear me out, guys… The Friars live outside of Bright Moon. The Scarlets live just inside the city walls. I love you both more than words can express but scaling that wall? It’s going to take you guys too much time.” Adora used to climb a lot while she was younger; these guys are okay with trees and if they can get a handhold, they’re golden, but she’s just _better_ at it than they are. She’s quicker.

She’s had a lot of practice.

Bow and Glimmer nod, eyes focused entirely on her.

“So we hit the Weaver place, which is much easier to get into than anything inside Bright Moon’s walls,” she continues, pointing at a large compound not far from the city walls. “Then you guys can go to the Friars to give them what they need - if it’s money, Weaver has more than enough to spare. Meanwhile, I’ll get over that wall and trade with Perfuma for the girls’ inhaler meds. Then I can get that to the Scarlets and meet you back here.”

“You wanna knock over the _Weaver place_?” Bow asks, looking shaken. “You’re kidding, right?” He turns to Glimmer. “Tell me she’s kidding.” Glimmer looks concerned.

“It seems like maybe she’s not.” Adora folds her arms.

“Look, I know this sounds insane, but I… I know the layout a little. And it’s midsummer, so Shadow Weaver will be attending Prime’s royal celebrations over in the Fright Zone in just a couple of days - nobody’s even going to be home if we plan it right.” Bow bites his lip.

Glimmer fixes her with a look. “And you won’t get distracted?” Adora suddenly wants the forest floor to swallow her up.

“What? Why would Adora get distracted?” Bow asks, brow furrowed in confusion. Adora glares at Glimmer. Yeah, _Glimmer_ , why on Etheria would she get _distracted_?

“Shiny things, tapestries, prizes around every corner…” Glimmer shrugs, the picture of innocent concern. “We’ve never done anything this big before, and if we’re not careful one of us is going to slip up and take more than we can carry. Adora knew the Weavers under Queen Razz’s rule, so I don’t want her getting… sentimental.” Another look. Adora sighs.

“Yeah, I get it Glimmer. No distractions, I promise.” Glimmer looks satisfied, and Bow at least seems to have taken the explanation at face value - for now.

“Can you get blueprints for the Weaver complex?” Adora asks Bow, and the look on his face becomes one of grim determination.

“I’ll get a message to Lance,” he says with a nod. Bow’s dads are historians and researchers, and they’ve intentionally never made waves, knowing they can do more for a potential rebellion or resistance where they are. They’ve been invaluable in procuring maps, blueprints, and supplies for the group for the last two years.

“Right. I’ll get in touch with Perfuma through the usual channels, and we can finish off a solid plan tomorrow. In the meantime… get some rest, guys.”

They’re going to need it. _Adora’s_ going to need it. She really can’t afford to get distracted on this one. Not by anything… or anyone.

* * *

By Friday evening, everything is arranged. Bow’s dads came through for them with their usual speed and discretion, Perfuma is happy to trade with Adora for Charlotte & Annabelle’s medicine, and Glimmer’s scouting earlier today confirmed that Shadow Weaver has indeed left her home to join the royal celebrations. Bow’s filled his quiver - some of the arrows are experimental, but he’s under strict instructions to keep those ones for _emergencies_ \- and Glimmer and Adora have spent several hours sparring to make sure they’re still in top shape.

Then the sun’s going down, and it’s time for them to do some _crime_.

* * *

The Weaver complex is formidable enough in the daytime, but at night it’s something to behold; Adora dreams about it sometimes, though it would be a kindness, really, to _call_ them dreams. The high stone walls around the main building are three feet thick, and the closely-barred metal gate that allows visitors access is ten feet of cold, unforgiving steel.

Fortunately, Bow isn’t _just_ a Master Archer.

“This system is _ancient_ ,” he says in an undertone, pulling various pieces of equipment from his belt and examining the gate’s mechanical lock with an engineer’s critical eye. “There isn’t even an alarm, so if I just-” With a click and a huff of triumphant breath, the metal gate pops open. After a round of very quiet high-fives they slip inside.

One good thing about sneaking into the stately home of a Prime-supporter is that there’s little to no security. These people think they’re invincible because of their connections, and Adora’s found that even the existence of Robin Hood hasn’t made much of a difference to the hubris of the wealthy and influential around here. Which, y’know, works in her favour usually.

Another thing about rich people is all the unnecessary foliage they seem to have everywhere, which gives them plenty of cover as they make their way up the winding driveway.

“What’s that one meant to be?” Glimmer whispers, pointing at a topiary bush that is obviously meant to be _something_. Adora cocks her head to the side, her hood slipping slightly to partially obscure her vision; it doesn’t really make much difference, honestly.

“Ostrich?” she suggests, and Bow ‘hm’s his agreement.

“Exotic,” Glimmer says dryly, and then they arrive at the main building and all conversation stops. They’re going in through a window set into the eaves of the building, which means Adora’s going first. She pulls off her shoes and Bow gives her a leg up; she immediately hooks her fingers into the divots between bricks where the mortar has started to crumble away and pulls herself out of his grip. People like the Weavers like the grandeur of an old, stately building, but they don’t care one jot about the upkeep.

Again, Adora’s not inclined to complain about that right now.

It only takes her a couple of minutes to get up to the window she needs; she knows it leads to the attic, which will probably be empty - if it isn’t full of some trinkets she can pocket on her way to let Bow and Glimmer in through a side door. Just like the rest of the building, the windows have been neglected for too long to give up much resistance. Fingers and toes gripping at those helpful gaps in the wall, she manages to prise the window open with a small crowbar and some gentle pressure, and she’s soon pulling herself inside.

There’s nothing in the attic but a dusty old sofa and a couple of truly hideous landscapes in gilt frames, so she makes her way immediately to the hatch leading to the top floor. Once it’s open she drops silently onto the floor below, crouching in silence for a moment so she can listen for anything untoward. Not a sound breaks the oppressive quiet, which should be a good thing… but then, this place has always made Adora uneasy.

Less than five minutes after pulling herself through the attic window, she’s letting her oh-so merry band inside the house, and they quickly make their way to their final destination, stopping only so that Adora can pull her boots back on.

Having a whole _room_ for your treasures is just… tacky, Adora can’t help but think. She doesn’t know if it’s inherent, or a product of being essentially raised by common folk, but in spite of her (stripped) title, Adora finds the accumulation of wealth pretty abhorrent. To store it all up somewhere just so other people can’t have it? She doesn’t know why she put off coming here for so long.

(She knows. She doesn’t think about it now.)

The room doesn’t have a name, but on their copy of the blueprints, Lance has jokingly scrawled ‘the Throne Room’ over it. When they jimmy the lock and get past Shadow Weaver’s laughably weak security system, it’s easy to see how appropriate that is.

“Well shit,” says Glimmer, her voice a mixture of awe and disgust. Adora doesn’t blame her; even Bow is struggling to keep his temper, and he’s certainly the most mellow of them all. He’s so overwhelmed and horrified by the obscene wealth in this lone room that he doesn’t even bother telling Glimmer off for her foul language.

“Okay, we came here for a purpose, guys,” Adora whispers as Bow hands her an appropriately sturdy sack. “Let’s make it hurt.”

After five minutes of methodical work and quick valuations, they’ve got all they can safely carry. They don’t push their luck, but they make it very clear that they’ve been there; let Shadow Weaver feel the pain of loss for once, if this is all she truly cares about.

“Let’s get the hell out of here,” Glimmer hisses as they finish their careful arrangement of the remaining jewels and gold. “We’ve still got stuff to do tonight, let’s move it.” Bow leaves the door as they found it, and soon they’re outside in the courtyard, gathering themselves briefly in the welcome shadow of an impressive oak tree. Adora passes off most of her loot to the other two, pocketing what she needs for the Scarlets’ meds in her cloak.

“Okay, you guys go - I just need to do one more thing,” Adora says with a firm nod to them both. Glimmer glares at her.

“No, you _don’t_ ,” she hisses, grabbing Adora’s arm. “We got what we came for, Adora. We need to _leave_.” Adora shakes off her hand.

“Shadow Weaver doesn’t just hoard wealth, guys,” she says in a desperate whisper, begging them to understand. “She’ll keep anything she thinks other people want. That includes Swiftwind.” Bow makes a noise of understanding but Glimmer glares at her harder.

“And how obvious is it going to be to Shadow Weaver who did this if the Lady of Locksley’s _horse goes missing?_ ” Adora knows she has a point, but she’s finding it kind of difficult to care. Swiftwind will be in the stables, which are a stone’s throw from where they’re currently standing; God only knows how he’s been treated under the Prime regime.

“People steal horses all the time,” Bow says with a shrug, and Adora sends him a grateful look. Glimmer is _not_ amused.

“You’re going to get yourself killed,” she says flatly, sighing and rubbing her eyes tiredly. “We’ll go to the Friars’. Don’t be late to meet Perfuma because of some stupid horse, okay?”

“He’s not a stupid horse,” Adora argues, but one look from Glimmer has her holding up her hands in defeat. “Okay, fine. But I’ll be quicker once I’ve got him out anyway- just _go_ , guys.” With one last look from her two best friends - one quietly encouraging, the other rightfully judgmental - they disappear towards the main gate.

She turns and heads straight for the stables.

The reason horse rustling continues to be such a lucrative business, Adora thinks as she literally _strolls_ into the stables, is because nobody bothers to lock them up properly. The reward far outweighs the risk.

Swiftwind’s quiet, disbelieving whinny when he sees her derails her thought process entirely.

“Swifty,” she whispers, delighted but trying desperately to stay quiet. He paws the ground in response, straining a little against the rope keeping him tethered, and the second she’s close enough, he shoves his muzzle into her cloaked shoulder with a gust of hot, sweet-smelling breath. “I missed you too,” she murmurs against his broad cheek, huffing out a laugh as he presses in a little harder. “I’m here to _liberate you_.” Swiftwind lets out another quiet whinny - Glimmer can say whatever she likes about horses… _this_ one’s smart. Swiftwind’s been around since she was in her early teens, and he’s been just as good and firm a friend to her as Bow and Glimmer - and for longer.

Adora moves away for a moment to untie the rope holding him in place and then she’s on his back, smoothing her hands over ribs that hadn’t been this visible the last time she saw him.

“I’m so sorry, Swifty,” she says quietly. He responds by tossing his head back and giving her a look over his shoulder that has her stifling a laugh. “Yeah, I know… But we have a camp now. You can come with me. Wanna get out of here?” Another whinny, this one low and pleased. Adora grins.

Then there’s a voice from the other side of the stable, and the smile slides from her face.

“Hey, Adora.”

* * *

Catra’s face is unreadable, which is jarring; Adora could always read her. They had always understood one another, even when the last thing they each wanted was to be understood; it felt like too much for how young they were, danger threatening on all sides to drown them before they even really knew what it meant.

She’s still sharp, all edges and angles at her core, in spite of the two years of growth since they’d last met. Her hair is shorter now, curling around her ears and falling into her eyes. Adora had always been a bit obsessed with those eyes - blue and yellow and utterly unique - but she forces herself to look away from them so she can catalogue the rest of the woman in front of her, assess what she’s missed. More freckles, skin a little more sunkissed and weather-beaten; she’s on the skinny side, but still strong, still fighting back in all the ways she knows how. She’s still the most beautiful person Adora’s ever seen.

She can’t even speak.

“You’re not dead then,” Catra says coolly -- but _there_. There. Adora recognises the look that flashes across Catra’s face. Her heart leaps in her chest, a distantly familiar feeling taking up residence in her ribcage.

“ _Catra_ ,” Adora breathes, and then she’s grinning - they both are - and she jumps down from Swiftwind with just enough time to catch the woman leaping at her. Strong, slim arms wrap around her shoulders, and there’s a significantly less horsey face buried in her neck within a matter of seconds; a wet, strangled facsimile of laughter bubbles up in Adora’s throat as she hugs Catra fiercely to her chest, one hand splayed across her back and the other on the back of her head.

They stay there for a while - only a few minutes, probably, though Adora would be happy never to move again - before Catra pulls away, letting her feet hit the floor. Adora hadn’t even realised she was supporting both of them. She keeps a hand on Catra’s arm even as the other woman steps away; there’s space between them now, and Adora doesn’t know what she’ll do if it grows any greater.

“Adora, what are you _doing_ here?” Catra asks, and there’s a worry in her voice that the Catra of two years ago would have considered weakness, would have hidden behind a smirk designed to throw people off. Adora feels a flare of anger in her chest towards whoever has tried to break her - because she can see now that they’re getting dangerously close.

“My job,” she says honestly, and Adora can see the second Catra gets it - her hood is still up, and the sword on her back is just visible, after all. She’s the very silhouette of her alter ego.

“You are _shitting_ me?” Catra’s grinning again now and she delivers a quick punch to Adora’s arm when she nods in response. “Well fuck me, _Robin Hood’s here_.” Adora can feel herself flushing a little; she likes the name a little more when Catra’s the one using it. She tries to ignore the images that flash through her mind at the rest of her exclamation.

“Still swearing like it’s punctuation, I see,” she says dryly, but she hasn’t stopped smiling for the last five minutes so it comes out a little punch-drunk, a little stupid. A little _wistful_.

“Not in polite company,” Catra says, raising her eyebrows. “As you can see, there’s no fucking chance of that in here.”

“Okay, now you’re just being crass on purpose.”

“Every day of my life, milady.” They grin at each other in silence for a moment, then Adora does what she does best and ruins everything.

“Come with me.” The smile on Catra’s face dissolves like spun sugar in the rain. Catra takes a step back, then another, and Adora’s hand falls away from the familiar heat of her skin.

“I - I can’t.” Her voice is cracked; she sounds as raw as Adora feels, all of a sudden.

“Catra-”

“No,” Catra cuts her off, biting her lip and taking another step back. “I’ll… I’ll see you again, okay? I can still track. It’s kind of easier to find someone when you know they’re alive to look for.”

“I can protect you,” Adora insists, almost taking a step forward before Catra’s stance makes her think better of it; the bitter laugh that bursts from Catra's mouth tells her she was right not to push.

“Princess, you couldn’t even protect yourself,” she says acidly, then closes her eyes and sighs. “Look - just go. The longer you stay here, the more likely it is you’ll get caught. We’re both better off if you’re not here when _she_ gets back.” And all at once, Adora remembers where she is, and what she still has to do. She swallows round the lump forming in her throat and nods stiffly, then climbs back up onto Swiftwind’s back. She levels Catra with a look she suspects gives away a lot more than she’d like it to.

“Find me. Or I’ll find you.” Catra smiles wanly.

“Is that a threat or a promise, milady?”

“Consider it a bit of both.”

Adora doesn’t let herself look back as she rides out of the compound, but when she hears the distinct click of the gates closing behind her, she allows herself the luxury of tears. She’ll convince herself later that it was the sting of the wind.

* * *

Adora hides Swiftwind away before she scales Bright Moon’s walls, and she ends up precisely on time for her meeting with Perfuma. They hug, trade, and scram - it would have been nice to have the time to catch up, but it’s risky enough outside the city, let alone here.

She sneaks round the back of the Scarlets’ house under the light of a half moon and knocks three times on the back door. Will answers after only a couple of seconds, which means he’s expecting her; the look on his face says he’s none too pleased about it.

“Will,” she says with a forced smile he does not return. He simply nods and lets her inside - where the reception is distinctly more fond.

“Adora, my God, come here-” She’s instantly pulled into a warm hug by one of Will’s mothers, Mara, and she lets herself relax into it; with Glimmer and Bow around she’s hardly touch-starved, but Mara was so kind to her when she was a child, after her parents died. Mara is how she imagines her mother to be, when she allows herself to indulge in thinking of them. She’s kind, and funny, and altogether too good a woman to be living hand to mouth like this.

“Mara, how are you?” Adora asks seriously when she pulls back, peering into the other woman’s deceptively youthful face to try and parse out the truth of their situation. Mara laughs warmly and ruffles Adora’s hair.

“We are all _fine_ , Adora - Hope is off in Mystacor to trade, so I’m a little lonely, but Will is of course _excellent_ company.” They turn to where Will is still standing stiffly by the door, and his face softens just a little under his mother’s gaze.

“You’re awful company,” he says with a small smile. “If I have to read another book about embroidery I’m going to go mad.” Mara tuts at him and rolls her eyes.

“Don’t listen to him - we have sword fights in the garden four times a week. He’d have you believe I’ve gotten rusty, but I’m not the one racking up grass stains out there, let me tell you.”

“Mama?” They all turn towards the open door to the hallway at the sound of a small voice; Charlotte and Annabelle are rubbing their eyes, clearly interested enough in the new guest to have pulled themselves from sleep by sheer force of will. They beam at Adora when they see her and Charlotte runs forward to hug her legs with a squeak.

“Aunt Addie!” She’s quickly barged out of the way by her sister, and Adora’s laughing but she’s horrified to hear how laboured their breathing is even now.

“Hey girls,” she says softly, ruffling their hair and hunkering down for a proper hug. When she stands up again, Mara’s smiling and even Will looks reluctantly charmed. The twins have the power to smooth over ruffled feathers like nothing else. “The girls’ medication - here.” Adora pulls the vials out of her pockets - more than enough to last them the rest of the year - and hands them over to Mara. “Don’t wait this long again if you need me. You know I’ll come.” Mara shakes her head with a soft, sad smile.

“I don’t want you getting in trouble on our account,” she says, but clutches the vials to her chest with a relieved sigh all the same. “Girls, go and get your inhalers. Aunt Addie’s brought you the refills you’ve been waiting for.”

The girls, delighted by this, do as they’re told, and inside twenty minutes the rattle in their chests has faded to silence; as have they, falling asleep easily now that the night’s excitement has sapped the last of their energy.

Will’s smiling openly at Adora now, his sisters breathing deep and unhindered in his lap. She smiles back, and wonders if this night marks the start of several crumbling bridges being tentatively rebuilt.

* * *

When Adora gets back to camp, the sky is that soft, tempered shade of blue that heralds dawn, and she finds Glimmer and Bow talking in hushed whispers by a dwindling fire. They turn at the sound of Swiftwind’s hooves, softened though they are by the grassy forest floor, and their concerned looks turn triumphant.

“Took you long enough,” Glimmer comments, getting to her feet and immediately making her way over to make a fuss of Swiftwind. Adora snorts as she slides off the horse’s back, giving him a fond pat on the neck before being bundled up in a firm hug by Bow.

“What is it with people ambushing me with hugs recently,” she wonders aloud, before realising that was a _mistake_. When she pulls back from Bow’s embrace, both he and Glimmer are looking at her with raised eyebrows.

“Adora, who’s been _ambush-hugging you_?” Bow asks slowly, eyebrows still in the region of his hairline. She waves a hand in the air as vaguely as possible and tries to look innocent.

“Oh, you know Mara - it’s been a while since I visited since the whole _outlaw_ situation started so… her. And the girls. Nothing from Will, but you know - he’s a tough nut to crack,” she says, doing finger-guns and winking for some reason. As she feared, this does not help her case.

“And who _else_?” Glimmer asks archly. Adora groans and buries her face in her hands.

“Can we just… _not_ do this right now? I would very much like to not do this right now. Or ever! Never would be, like, my first choice.”

“Oh my god, is this a _romance thing_?” Oh _no_ … Bow’s eyes are shining hopefully, and he’s doing that thing with his entire face that means Adora has very much already lost this battle. Bow loves love; it is his most devastating weakness.

“Yeah, _Adora_ ,” Glimmer asks from where she and Swiftwind are getting reacquainted. “Is this a _romance thing_?” She doesn’t stand a goddamn chance at getting away with this.

“A solitary existence in the woods is all I asked for,” Adora says faintly, mostly to herself. “I just wanted to live in a tree and escape persecution.” She levels Glimmer with a look. “This feels a lot like persecution, Glim.”

“I guess we could have a nap first,” Glimmer says with a reluctant sigh - Adora has never been more relieved in her life.

“A nap! What a great idea. Top notch.” Adora gives them both a double thumbs up then strides forward to seize hold of Swiftwind’s makeshift reins, marching off to tether him somewhere safe, with access to drinking water. So, near the stream.

The stream which is a reasonable distance from her _nosy friends_.

* * *

All the nap does, in hindsight, is delay the inevitable.

“The details, _Hood_ ,” Glimmer says the second Adora comes down from her tree, literally clicking impatient fingers in her face. Adora considers being mad with her but then someone shoves something hot and delicious into her hands and she decides it’s not worth it.

Adora starts, as you might expect, at the beginning.

* * *

They met, Adora explains, when they were twelve. She had, by then, been an orphan for longer than she hadn’t, and the pitying looks from strangers were finally beginning to fade; this had come as a relief to a girl who was already struggling to feel much at all about the whole situation. Adora’s parents were old photographs and well-worn tapestries by then, not people.

She had been rambunctious ( _here, Glimmer snorts, and Adora elbows her so hard she falls off her log_ ) but not by any means badly behaved. She wanted to wear trousers and climb trees, while her caretakers would have preferred if she’d allow herself to be laced up. Adora had argued, loudly and frequently, that climbing trees wasn’t likely to hurt anybody but herself, and silk had a habit of being horribly soiled by such an activity. Therefore, she would remain in trousers, and though whatever poor soul was taking care of her that day would sigh and grumble, they did not press; she looked the spitting image of her mother, she knew, and these people that had so loved Lady Locksley would go to great lengths to keep her smile on Adora’s face.

Will Scarlet had been her friend since childhood and they were even more of a handful together than apart. Mara, who still had a fire in her eyes that Adora thought would likely never fade, ( _in the present, Bow agreed with a fervent nod_ ) would often take Adora and Will hiking and camping on the pretense of their going to far away towns to take in “culture”. Mara was not of noble birth, but you wouldn’t have thought anything of it if she’d claimed it to be so; her carriage and her manner were enough to convince most.

So Adora was twelve, and already proficient in the use of a sword and a bow; she would not wear corsets, and she knew her home well enough to hide from anyone who dared advance on her with one. She was shaping herself into something new, perhaps, for a woman of her station. She likes to think she’d known what was to come, but in reality she recognises a childlike selfishness there - regardless of how right she had been, in the end, about the validity of scaling walls and trees.

On a day that could have been any day in the week, truth be told, Adora climbed the largest tree in the courtyard and was surprised to find someone else already in the branches.

“Who are you?” she asked, somewhat rudely perhaps, but honestly - this was _her_ tree. In her courtyard! Adora felt she was entitled to be a little rude to strangers who liked climbing other people’s trees without permission. The girl opposite her was tanned, with wild hair and an equally wild smattering of freckles beneath wary eyes.

Those _eyes_. They held Adora’s attention instantly. One was blue and the other yellow; her own eyes, which had always been complimented by people for being ‘so like her mother’s’, now seemed boring by comparison. What was blue when you could have _blueandyellow_?

“This is the best tree for miles,” the girl retorted, instantly defensive - and rightly so, Adora realised. She tried to relax her stance, shuffling back so she could sit against the great trunk, hugging her legs to her chest.

“It’s a pretty good tree,” she conceded, trying a small, conciliatory smile. Something similar flickered across the other girl’s face, and the taut lines of her shoulders seemed to smooth out ever so slightly. “I’m Adora. Lady Adora of Locksley. Although I’m only twelve, so I won’t _actually_ be a Lady for a while yet. Not that I want to be! I don’t think they let you climb trees much when you’re a Lady.” The other girl blinked at her for a moment and Adora fidgeted; she had been told she rambled a lot, especially when anxious.

“I’m Catra… Fitzwalter. I’m in the care of the Weavers.” Adora nodded, furrowing her brow a little. She had heard the staff talk about the Weavers sometimes, and gathered that several of them had worked at the Weaver Complex prior to their engagement at Locksley House. They did not speak highly of the lady of the house. Adora was smart enough to read between the lines of bruised egos to see a far more literal pain.

She swallowed.

“You can come up here any time you like,” Adora said determinedly, her jaw set. “You have official permission from the future lady of the house.” Catra’s smile was genuine, then, but Adora couldn’t stop looking at her eyes.

“Thanks… Adora.”

It had gone from there really, and Adora had been powerless to stop herself falling in love - before she’d even known what that was, and before it was anything other than a fierce, protective adoration that made them almost inseparable.

Bow and Glimmer had become her friends later, at sixteen, but she’d never mentioned Catra to them. It was selfish really; even as her time became split between them, she never wanted to share Catra. And the other girl’s time was limited, after all, to those moments she could steal away from Shadow Weaver’s hawk-like watch.

No; that wasn’t _for_ anyone else.

It had been a year later when everything had gone wrong, and the path of her life had been forever altered. She was in love, she was idealistic, and she was about to understand the consequences of her loud loyalty to Queen Razz in light of her physical absence from the throne.

It had been September, and Adora had not long turned seventeen. She’d already decided that Catra’s birthday - less than a week later - would be the time to do it. The time to ask her for her hand in marriage. 

_(Bow actually gasps, hand over his mouth, and Glimmer smacks him on the arm without looking away from Adora.)_

They weren’t courting, per se… But the rules and rituals were a little different when there wasn’t a man involved, or so the books in the library had told Adora, and she knew that she, at least, was in love with Catra. She just had to hope that her feelings were returned. She would have taken the sting of loss and rejection over the agony of not knowing.

She woke that night to a maid shaking her shoulders, the young woman’s voice a hushed, panicked whisper.

“Lady Adora,” Lisette hissed, and Adora was wide awake in an instant upon hearing the terror in the maid’s voice. “You must leave immediately. Prime’s forces are here - they want to bring you in for… for treason.” Lisette’s face was ashen, but Adora only nodded, jaw set. So this was it, she thought, climbing from her bed and grabbing the bag Mara had made her put together in case this very thing were to happen; Adora hadn’t ever thought it would, but her idealism was far less reliable than Mara’s knowledge and practicality. Mara had made her ready, she now understood. If Adora survived this, she’d have to send her some flowers or something.

“Make sure they know you had nothing to do with my escape,” she said firmly to the maid, putting a hand on her shoulder. “Swear fealty to Prime. Do whatever you have to do to stay alive.” Lisette nodded, tears running down her face, and Adora gave her a gentle push towards the door; the sounds of arguing downstairs were audible now, and it was only a matter of time before Prime’s forces made their way to Adora’s bedchamber.

“They’ve already secured Swiftwind, milady,” Lisette said with a sob, and Adora was powerless to stop her own sharp intake of breath at the news. She nodded stiffly, and made for the window.

“Then I will adapt, Lisette. Now _go_.” And go she did, closing the door softly behind her. Adora only hoped she’d given them both enough time.

* * *

“Then I came here, and you guys found me in the woods, I guess,” Adora says with a tired shrug, hunching in on herself just a little. The wild boar Bow had handed her earlier now sits heavily in her stomach. “That always gave me some hope, you know? That Catra would be able to find me too… That she’d come looking for me. But I guess Weaver told her I’d been killed for treason, so she never had any reason to look.” She closes her eyes and bites back tears. It would be silly for her to cry now, she knows; all of this is in the past, and she’s even had the chance to see Catra again. To actually hold her!

After two years without those eyes in her life, she’s still not sure it’s enough.

She opens her eyes when warmth engulfs her from both sides; Bow and Glimmer have squeezed onto the log with her and are wrapping her up in a fierce hug.

“Guys, this is great and all, but how am I meant to hug you back?” Adora points out, smiling in spite of herself and wiggling her trapped fingers.

“Shhh,” Glimmer says soothingly, patting her on the back. “Don’t talk. Just enjoy.”

“The Merry Band’s got your back, Adora,” Bow says solemnly, squeezing her with a single-minded intensity that makes Adora’s ribs creak. “And once this hug is over, we’re going to hatch a plan to _get the girl_.”

Adora’s not sure if she’s soothed or terrified by this pronouncement, but she relaxes into the hug regardless. Everything’s going to be fine, she thinks. Alternatively, everything’s going to be terrible, but she doesn’t think she has much of a choice either way; better to think positive.

She draws the line at serenades though.

* * *

In the end, Catra keeps her word, though she almost kills Adora in the process. Sleeping in a tree is all very well and good - the Merry Band are in fact pretty great at it after two years, thank you very much - but if something shocks you? Sometimes you might fall off a branch. Just a little.

“Hey, Adora.”

Adora shoots upright so quickly she dislodges herself from her hammock in the canopy and almost falls out of the tree entirely. She manages to grab onto a branch as she twists, and ends up hanging several feet off the forest floor by one arm, blinking sleep out of her eyes and looking around wildly for the source of the greeting.

“Okay, seriously? How are you still alive?” Ah. There she is. Adora glares at Catra, who’s now pushed back the hood of her cloak and is standing with a hand on her cocked hip. Adora sighs, completely awake now, and manages to swing herself over to the trunk, climbing a couple of feet before dropping to the ground. She looks up at the canopy to see that Bow and Glimmer haven’t moved a centimetre, so either they’ve managed to sleep through the ruckus or they’re doing a really good job of pretending.

“You don’t usually hear a lot of noise in the Whispering Woods,” Adora says defensively, but she’s grinning at just the sight of Catra, which she can’t bring herself to be embarrassed about. “I mean… other than the whispering. Most _sane_ people are scared to come here.”

“Because they might get mugged by a bunch of leafy Socialists?” she quips, smirking. Adora laughs a little at that. Then - because why _shouldn’t_ she - she marches forward and pulls Catra into a tight hug, burying her face in the other woman’s neck. She doesn’t know what to expect, really, but the noise Catra makes in her throat is low and pleased, and her arms slip easily around Adora’s shoulders to return the embrace.

They stand there for a while, and tension Adora hadn’t known she was holding starts to leech from her bones with every passing second. She suspects she’s been holding it there for the last two years.

“Get a tree, you guys,” says a voice from several feet above them. Catra jumps like someone’s poured a bucket of ice water over her head, and she’s suddenly out of Adora’s reach and glaring up at the branches like they’ve personally wronged her. Adora understands the feeling; she can hear her friends snickering, just out of sight.

“I’m not sure I deserve this treatment,” Adora murmurs with a faint sigh, shaking her head. “Just… come with me.” She gestures to Catra, who is still eyeing the tree with deep suspicion, and she eventually trudges after Adora as she makes her way to the stream. Swiftwind’s soft whinnying in the distance and the low, soothing babble of the water tumbling over rocks calms her a little.

Then Adora looks back at Catra and her heart rate picks right back up again.

“I can’t stay long,” Catra says before Adora can speak, settling down on the bank with one knee pressed to her chest, the other straight out in front of her. She looks older than Adora had first realised; the barn had been dark, but the watery light that penetrates the dense foliage around them gives her more than enough to be going on with. Catra looks tired.

“Okay,” Adora replies after a moment, moving to sit next to Catra on the grass. “Just wanted to prove you could find me, huh?” She’s joking, but it’s also a way out for both of them. Things are different now; their friendship - or whatever it _could_ have become - is hardly going to be easy anymore, if it ever _had_ been. Catra rolls her eyes.

“I don’t need to find some loser outlaw just to prove I’m good at this,” she scoffs, and the description should sting but it just makes Adora smile. The insults are achingly familiar. “Shadow Weaver’s got news for me, apparently. I have to be back for dinner or she’ll notice.” Adora doesn’t miss how Catra’s jaw tightens at the mention of her guardian.

“Don’t fancy living in the woods with me then?” Adora asks softly. She knows the answer to that though, doesn’t she? There are plenty of people who would follow her like she was worth following, but Catra would never be Glimmer or Bow, and she wouldn’t push for it like Will had tried to. They had all, in their way, decided they would defer to Adora’s judgment.

Catra had always made it very clear that she thought extremely poorly of Adora’s judgment.

“Nothing wrong with enjoying hot showers and a proper mattress,” Catra says with a nonchalant shrug of her shoulders. It’s the answer Adora was expecting, but her heart still sinks like it wasn’t quite up to speed with her head.

“No, I guess not,” Adora agrees. They sit in silence for a moment - or as close to silence as possible when there’s a very large horse just round the corner who has made it his personal mission to consume every blade of grass in the vicinity - before Catra says what it’s clear she’s here to say.

“We had plans, didn’t we? For my seventeenth birthday. You said you had a surprise for me or something.” Adora ignores the traitorous part of herself that’s still holding out hope and keeps her voice level.

“Would you believe me if I said it was a pony?” Catra snorts and shakes her head. “Yeah, I didn’t think so.” Adora sighs and rakes a hand through her hair, pulling out the tie keeping it up so that she can comb through the strands with her fingers. “It doesn’t really matter anymore, does it? I’m an outlaw - someone who, until recently, you thought was dead - and you’re… Well, I guess you’re technically a station above me now, right? My title was stripped from me, and Weaver _must_ have given you something once you turned seventeen, even if it was just to show off. So there really isn’t anything I can give you anymore. Nothing I can… promise you.”

There’s quiet for a few minutes more, and Adora can’t bring herself to meet the shrewd gaze of the woman next to her, even as Catra’s eyes fairly bore a hole in the side of her head.

“You are so full of shit, Adora.” She whips around to glare at Catra, who’s smiling for some reason.

“I’m serious, Catra!” Adora says hotly, scraping her hair back into its perpetual ponytail on autopilot. “I’m _nothing_ now, and I do what I can with that anonymity, try to _help_ people, but it’s like you said - who can I protect, really? I can’t offer you anything except maybe a decent _tree_.”

“I mean, that’s pretty much what you offered me right from the start,” Catra counters with a shrug - then suddenly there’s a firm hand on the back of Adora’s neck and she’s being pulled into an equally firm, if brief, kiss.

When Catra pulls back, Adora’s still trying to understand what just happened. She stares into Catra’s mismatched, beautiful eyes, and wonders if it’s possible she’s still sleeping in her tree; it’s not like she hasn’t had dreams like this before. She’s had plenty, in fact, and many of them got a lot more heated than _this_.

“Um… what? You-” Catra’s smiling at her just a little still, a slight quirk of her mouth (a mouth that was just pressed against her own, oh _God_ ) and Adora’s at a loss for words. 

But then, she’s always been better with actions, hasn’t she?

She doesn’t think; she just slides a hand into Catra’s hair and pulls her forward so their lips meet again, and this time the touch is anything but brief. Adora’s only kissed one person before this, and she was eight years old at the time. She can’t remember much about it, but Will had teased her when they were teenagers for her violent reaction to it - which he claims involved her shrieking, running away from him, and climbing a tree. He’s probably right.

When Adora kisses Catra, she can’t think of anywhere else she’d rather be. She would move heaven and earth, destroy kingdoms, overthrow tyrants… Do _anything_ , just to make _this_ , right here, her new forever. Catra’s mouth against hers is everything, and Adora presses in closer, bringing her other hand to Catra’s cheek to ground herself; Catra makes a soft, broken noise in her throat and a moment later she’s on top of Adora, pressing her into the dew-damp grass with the graceful weight of her body. 

Adora’s on fire, every atom of her keening and arching desperately towards each new point of contact presented to her. She wants to grow _gills_ or learn to photosynthesize or something because the idea of no longer kissing this woman - of stopping for anything at all, even oxygen - is almost physically painful.

“Catra,” she gasps as the kiss is broken for a scant few seconds, and it comes out a little like a sob; Catra swears brokenly and presses their mouths back together immediately, biting at Adora’s bottom lip and making her burn with something bright and electric.

“Adora - _fuck_ \- I really have to go,” Catra manages to say eventually, but she’s breathing hot and wet against Adora’s neck, and then there’s a thigh between Adora’s legs and she muffles a noise of surprised pleasure against Catra’s shoulder.

“Could you stay for-” Adora moans when Catra’s thigh presses a little harder against her and she clumsily shifts her own leg so that Catra has something to grind against; the noise she makes in response sends molten heat straight to the pit of Adora’s stomach, and she almost forgets what she was saying. She’s struggling to breathe properly now, but it feels less like drowning and more like being saved from it, and she tries in vain to gather enough oxygen to speak again. “Stay for five minutes? I need - Catra, I need _five minutes._ ” 

It turns out they both only need three.

Afterwards, it takes another five minutes before Adora really catches her breath. Catra lies next to her, their shoulders and hips touching, and laces their fingers together as they come back down to earth - and the reality that comes with it.

“If I don’t leave now,” Catra says quietly, her voice barely above a whisper, “I’m going to be late for dinner. If I’m late for dinner, Shadow Weaver won’t bother to ask why.” Adora closes her eyes and squeezes Catra’s hand; the idea of anyone laying a finger on her makes Adora want to break something.

But she’s done what she can, hasn’t she? Offered what little she has, and - predictably, perhaps - been shown it’s not enough. She’s not angry, but she can feel a gaping chasm opening up in her chest at the idea that this warmth will soon be leaving her; it yawns, wide and unrelenting behind her ribcage, and she forces herself to breathe through the panic that starts to spill from its murky depths. She reminds herself, as she has done so regularly for the past two years, that this too shall pass.

“Go,” Adora says softly, holding back tears through sheer force of will. “But if you don’t find me again inside a week, I’m coming after you.” Catra doesn’t say anything, but returns the firm squeeze of their linked hands in silent acquiescence.

The threat - the _promise_ \- in those words remains even as Catra disappears out of sight.

Adora doesn’t cry, but when Glimmer and Bow see her face on her return to camp, she thinks she may as well have arrived sobbing.

“We’re all fighting for something,” Glimmer reminds her softly, pressing their shoulders together and forcing some food into her hands later that day. Adora eats, though she doesn’t taste anything, and wonders if loving someone is meant to make you feel like this. She wonders if _Catra_ feels like this.

She barely sleeps, but this time the worn photograph of Catra stays hidden away. She closes her eyes and remembers the new Catra instead; the comforting contours of her lover’s smile are almost as good as sleep.

* * *

A week passes without a sign of Catra - then comes the news, delivered by none other than Mara.

“I thought this was a secret camp?” Bow says exasperatedly. They’d woken up that morning to Mara having already started the fire - and she’d brought homemade bread for them to toast. Adora had experienced worse wake-up calls.

“It _is_ a secret camp,” Adora hisses, glaring at Bow before directing her gaze towards Mara and taking another piece of toast with a smile. “I told Mara the location months ago. I’m not about to hide from the people who need me.” Mara looks back at her fondly.

“And _I’m_ not about to let three growing rebels go without my sourdough any longer. I know you’d just eat boar all day if I let you,” she says shrewdly. Adora grins sheepishly and rubs the back of her neck, although Bow looks slightly put-out; they’re probably going to have to reassure him of his excellent hunting capabilities later.

"You eat what the forest gives you!"

"Well today the forest is giving you hot buttered toast," Mara says firmly. Then, after hesitating for a moment, she continues with a rather more grave tone. "That, and news, of course."

"Ha - I knew it!" Glimmer says triumphantly, pointing at Mara with an excited gleam in her eye. "What is it? Who's wronged you? Do I get to punch someone?" Mara shakes her head with a sad smile, holding up her hand to put a stop to Glimmer's rapidfire questioning. They all go quiet, and watch with curious eyes as Mara pulls a newspaper from her bag; it's the Bright Moon Herald.

"Well, first of all - congratulations, Robin Hood," she says with a sigh, showing them all the front page. "The price on your life just went up quite considerably."

There aren't many photos of 'Robin Hood' - and for good reason. Adora can be a headstrong idiot, but even _she_ can understand the necessity of secrecy, given what they do. The photo on the front page of the Herald is therefore an old one - the first one they ran, in fact, back when Adora was not long past seventeen and yet to make a name for herself (both literally and figuratively). Above the photo of the crouched, hooded figure is the headline:

**ROBIN HOOD LOOTS WEAVER HOUSEHOLD - REWARD UPPED FROM £50,000 TO £200,000 BY ORDER OF KING PRIME. WANTED ALIVE FOR QUESTIONING.**

Adora stares at it for a moment then snorts.

"Even after what we took from Weaver, that's hardly going to make much of a dent in her cash reserves," she says dryly, picking at the crust of her third piece of toast.

"I'll pretend I didn't hear that," Mara says mildly, then all pretence of humour goes from her face and she sighs. "This headline coincides with a less sensationalist one on page 5. I don't think it's a coincidence." She passes the paper to Adora and watches as she turns to the page in question. Adora freezes.

**SHADOW WEAVER'S WARD ENGAGED TO SHERIFF HORDAK**

'The Weaver household, long-time favourites of Prime and very vocal proponents of his regular and varied tax hikes, announced today that wedding bells are on the horizon.

'Catra Fitzwalter, orphaned at a young age and taken under Shadow Weaver's wing, is to be married to Sheriff Hordak this weekend in an intimate ceremony within the Fright Zone. Miss Fitzwalter - who will be given the title of Baroness as a gift from King Prime under this unexpected union - could not be reached for comment, but Shadow Weaver gave the Herald the following statement:

'"Catra understands the benefits of this arrangement to everyone involved, and has gladly consented to this union; there are few men so eligible as Sheriff Hordak. It is so good to see two such like-minded people finding comfort in one another, and I have high hopes for what they can achieve together."

'This paper understands that the couple are to pledge themselves to one another at The Old Engine Room in the Fright Zone, on Saturday at 5pm. While this is a little unorthodox, apparently the pair enjoy the rustic architecture and the opportunity for privacy. We at the Herald hope this provides the surrounding kingdoms with a blueprint for their own happiness, encouraging couples all over Etheria to shirk tradition and go with their heart.”

'Best wishes to the soon-to-be Baron Hordak and his Baroness, and may this wedding take their happiness to the headiest of heights.'

Adora is shaking. Wordlessly, she hands the paper back to Mara and stands up, reaching mechanically for the sword on her back.

"Adora-" Bow says, voice calm, but she just pulls the sword from its sheath and holds it in front of her, tilting it from side so that the light catches the blade. It's a beautiful piece of engineering, she knows, and she's very much looking forward to sliding it between Shadow Weaver's ribs. Or the Sheriff’s. Or both - she’s not picky.

"It's a trap," Mara says, equally calm, and it grates on Adora all of a sudden. Her eyes flash as she turns to Mara.

"Of course it's a trap," she manages to grind out past gritted teeth and a jaw set like concrete. "I don't care. I'm going to go there, and I'm going to kill Weaver - and probably Hordak because _why not, while I'm at it_ \- and then I'm carrying Catra out of there." 

"You'll get yourself killed," Glimmer yells. The noise of her frustration is refreshing against a backdrop of people trying to talk Adora down. She turns to Glimmer, torn between anger and anguish.

“Weaver found out something - not everything, but _enough_ \- and whatever’s about to happen to Catra as a result is _my fault_ ,” she yells back.

“So that means you need to _die_ to fix it?” Glimmer argues, and she’s waving her arms wildly and enthusiastically around her as her voice rises in pitch. “Newsflash, Adora: you dying doesn’t help _anyone_!”

But Adora’s stopped listening -- suddenly, she’s thinking over that article again. Something just pinged in the back of her brain, like an alarm wailing in the distance, and it’s just out of her grasp. She turns away from Glimmer, sheathing her sword, and holds a hand out to Mara.

“Can I see the paper again?”

“You’re not just torturing yourself with this are you?” Mara asks slowly, but she seems to understand that this is something else, because she’s already holding the newspaper out for her. Adora takes it with a grateful smile and falls back down onto her log, scanning the article; she ignores how she feels and concentrates on the facts. On the words.

“Do I have magically persuasive yelling powers?” Glimmer asks curiously, staring down at her hands with a frown. “Usually it takes a lot longer than that to get Adora to back down.” Adora huffs out a laugh but doesn’t look away from the paper in her hands.

“There’s just… something about this article,” she murmurs, running a finger over the penultimate paragraph and humming. “The Herald has always toed the line but anyone with half a brain knows they’re just waiting for Razz to take back the throne. The tone of this… It’s just a little _off_.”

“Hm,” Bow says from somewhere behind her, shuffling forwards to peer over her left shoulder. “‘Taken under Shadow Weaver’s wing’, huh? Makes her sound like a bird of prey. Creepy.” Adora snaps her fingers.

“Yes - that’s it! Did you notice how weird the writer’s name is too?” She points at the byline, and Bow squints at it incredulously.

“Walter Z Artifact? That’s not even a _name_ ,” Bow says, then gasps and slaps a hand over his mouth. “S’anagram!” It’s muffled by his hand, but everyone in the clearing gets the picture, and suddenly Adora’s flanked on all sides by Glimmer, Bow, and Mara.

“That’s an anagram of Catra Fitzwalter,” Mara says with a grin, and Glimmer makes a noise of sudden understanding.

“So the article is, what - a message from her?” she asks, peering at it over Adora’s shoulder as though she isn’t literally the _worst_ at puzzles. Adora leans forward to place the paper on the ground, smoothing out the article; they all crowd around it, brows furrowed.

“The last two paragraphs are the key, I think,” Bow says thoughtfully, rubbing his chin. He grew up in a literal library, so the group usually defer to him in situations like this - few though they are outside of the odd crossword. “Even the Herald wouldn’t dare to misquote Shadow Weaver, so her quote is basically useless to us. Adora, what are your strongest memories with Catra?”

Adora can feel heat rising in her cheeks, and tries very hard to focus on slightly more _distant_ memories.

“We hung out in trees a lot,” she says with a shrug, biting her lip in thought. “So mostly climbing, I guess. Running and hiding from servants was also _not_ uncommon.” She stifles a laugh when Mara nudges her gently with an elbow; she’s not sure if she’s being told off, or reminded that Mara taught her all she knows about successfully outrunning a maidservant.

Adora sucks in a breath. Running and _hiding_.

“‘Opportunity for privacy’ - ‘blueprint’,” she says, stabbing her finger at these words, then moving down to the final paragraph. “‘ _The headiest of heights’._ Bow, can your dads get us blueprints to the Old Engine Room?” He raises his eyebrows.

“Yeah, I’m pretty sure they have a whole section on the Fright Zone.” Adora nods firmly.

“Great. Because I think Catra’s telling me where she’s going to be before the ceremony. I don’t know the area very well anymore - though I went there a few times as a kid - but I think the engine room was tacked onto an even older grain silo. I remember some of the servants saying the engine room had its own tower, so it looked less out-of-place next to it.”

“Yeah, I remember it - weird-looking place. They must’ve built an additional tower to try for some kind of architectural symmetry,” Bow comments, frowning. He may have chosen the life of a warrior,, but Bow has managed to accumulate a decent amount of knowledge from his parents simply by proxy.

“Yes, that’s where Catra will be prior to the wedding,” Mara says, nodding in agreement. “The so-called ‘rustic architecture’ will no doubt help you to scale the walls undetected. I wouldn’t put it past Weaver and Hordak to have significant security forces at their disposal.” She puts a hand on Adora’s shoulder and squeezes. “Don’t get caught, Adora. They’ll hand you over to Prime in a heartbeat.” Adora places a hand over Mara’s and nods.

“I have a vested interest in staying out of jail, don’t worry. Mara…” Adora pauses, turning slightly to look at her seriously. “I might need your cool head on this one. Stick around for the planning?” Mara smiles warmly.

“Couldn’t get rid of me if you tried.”

* * *

Glimmer and Bow provide sufficient distraction to get Adora past the first line of defences with considerable ease on their part; Bow was practically jumping for joy when they told him he’d finally be allowed to use those exploding gunpowder arrows he’d been putting together and storing up for a special occasion. Adora has to admit that they’re incredibly effective - and, importantly, far enough away that the guards won’t bother Shadow Weaver or Sheriff Hordak about the disturbance until they’ve fully investigated it.

Leaving the tower unguarded.

Climbing the wall of the tower is the easy part in all this, even if Adora does kind of feel like a horrible fairytale cliché while she’s doing it. As she steadily makes her way up the sheer incline, she reflects on what would happen to anyone who referred to Catra as a ‘fair maiden’ within her hearing. Probably nothing good.

The window is open at the top, which is either a very good or a very bad sign; while Adora’s really hoping for the former, the dark, dangerous feeling in her stomach tells her to be on her guard. She’s learned not to ignore that feeling.

It turns out she’s right to be wary.

 _“You know, Catra, this could all be so much less of a strain for everyone involved if you’d just tell me what you know.”_ The voice is Shadow Weaver’s, and while the tone is casually persuasive, Adora knows enough about what it heralds that her palms itch for the hilt of her sword. Instead she remains hidden, hanging from just below the window, listening.

 _“As you’re so fond of telling me, I don’t know anything,”_ Catra replies, sickly sweet - it’s followed by a grunt of pain, and Adora grinds her teeth against the urge to run in half-cocked; she knows it won’t help.

 _“Impudent girl,”_ Shadow Weaver says with a sigh, and then Catra’s grunting again, and Adora manages to hoist herself up enough that she can catch a glimpse of the room in the reflection of the window. She almost gasps in relief; Weaver is lacing Catra’s wedding corset. There’s no doubt in Adora’s mind that she’s doing it too tightly, that most people would be close to fainting by this point, but she knows Catra’s too stubborn for that kind of nonsense. Also, Adora suspects she keeps filling up her lungs out of spite, making it harder to pull her in.

They’re facing in the other direction, so Adora pulls herself up a little higher and rolls softly through the window, darting immediately behind a nearby armchair. The room is sparsely furnished, but there’s enough cover for her to watch and wait for the appropriate moment.

 _To do what?_ This is the question that’s been plaguing her mind since they concocted their plan in the woods just a couple of days ago. Her anger still simmers below the surface, and she knows she could do a lot of damage with that rage, but the logical part of her brain is currently in the driving seat; she has to stick to the plan. It’s a plan that involves minimal revenge, but Mara and Bow were insistent. She’d known when it was just herself and Glimmer arguing for vengeance that it was a lost cause.

“Christ, do you want me to pass out before I can make your buddy a Baron?” Catra snaps, bringing Adora back to the present. Shadow Weaver clucks her tongue reproachfully.

“I’d advise you to mind your manners, Catra. In an hour you will be a Baroness - a title you do not by any means deserve - and this is the thanks I get for arranging it? You have been an ungrateful wretch for most of your life, and I am giving you an opportunity you could not, in your wildest dreams, have imagined was possible. Am I to be repaid with lies and a wicked tongue?”

Catra does not respond immediately, but her laboured breathing is audible in the echoing space. Adora reaches back to wrap her hand around the hilt of her sword, anchoring herself with the cool metal, and takes a quiet breath of her own. Killing Shadow Weaver would be as unnecessarily dangerous as it would be rewarding, she reminds herself. 

“I’m not a liar,” Catra says eventually, quiet but firm. “I told you - I had nothing to do with the thefts, or with that dumb horse disappearing. And I don’t care in the slightest about Robin Hood, so why you think I’d somehow be protecting them is ridiculous.”

There’s silence again for a few minutes, and Adora peeks out from behind the chair for just long enough to see Shadow Weaver tying the corset strings in a complicated knot; her hands fall away from Catra’s back and Adora moves back out of sight.

“No matter,” Shadow Weaver says coldly, and Adora hears her footsteps passing in front of the chair and over to the door. “Once you belong to Sheriff Hordak, I have no doubt the truth will come out. I trust you can get into your dress without assistance?” And then there’s the sound of a door opening and closing, and the barely-stifled sob of a woman close to breaking point.

Adora’s had about enough of this.

“Good thing I brought you a change of clothes,” she says, rising from her place behind the armchair and moving purposefully towards where Catra is now turning to face her, eyes wide. “Although since you don’t care about Robin Hood, I could just-” Before Adora can even finish speaking Catra’s reaching out with both hands and pulling her in, their mouths meeting for a handful of hot, messy, beautiful seconds before Catra pulls away.

“Robin Hood can go hang,” she says fiercely, hands fisted desperately in the front of Adora’s cloak. “But if I have to go another fucking day without Adora of Locksley, I might have something to say about it.”

Adora kisses her again, because her heart’s full and there’s still _danger_ , yes, but there’s also this; a love that’s very much returned, bright and reckless and worth the trouble it’s taken to get here. Worth the blisters on her fingers and the blood under her nails and losing almost everything - because she never lost _this_ , even if she hadn’t been entirely sure it was hers to begin with.

Catra pulls away, panting, and turns so that Adora’s faced with the complex lacing of her corset.

“Now get me the fuck out of this thing, Locksley.” Adora doesn’t bother trying to undo the tight, intricate knots of the corset ribbons, instead pulling the sword from her back and slicing open the stays. She sheaths her sword as Catra takes a gulp of air, turning away politely; Adora’s trying desperately not to think about less pressing situations where this could be reenacted. It really, _really_ isn’t the time.

There’s a cough from behind her and Adora ‘hm’s questioningly from where she’s averting her gaze; she hears a quiet huff of laughter, then there’s a hand sliding round her waist.

“I think you forgot something, Adora,” Catra says, gleeful smile evident in her voice as she deftly unties the small bag at Adora’s hip. “Unless you want me to climb out of here in the altogether?”

“If anyone asks how I died,” Adora says over Catra’s snickering, “tell them it was something cool and brave, like fighting a pride of lions or something.”

“Right - because saying you were literally just too horny to live isn’t acceptable.”

“I will climb down this tower without you,” Adora says firmly, her face on fire, but they both know she’s lying. A moment later she feels a gentle hand on her arm; she turns warily, and is relieved (and a little disappointed) to find that Catra is dressed already, grinning at her from beneath the hood of a forest green cloak.

“Is this what passes for fashion in the Whispering Woods?” she asks with a raised eyebrow, and Adora leans forward to kiss the smirk off her lips.

Which is, unfortunately, when Shadow Weaver and three armed guards enter the room.

Adora pulls her sword from its sheath with one hand while pushing Catra behind her, both motions happening instantly and without the involvement of any higher brain functions; she’s working on instinct, the urge to protect rising like fire in her chest.

“Ah,” she says calmly, as Shadow Weaver closes the door behind the group. “This would be the trap then.”

“So it would seem,” Shadow Weaver replies smoothly with a slight incline of her head. “Adora - it’s been a while. I had my suspicions after the theft of the steed but I discounted it when I saw what was left behind for me in the house. I thought it too juvenile for a woman of your standing.” Adora grins, all teeth.

“What standing? Prime stripped me of my title and took away my land - I’m nothing but a _commoner_ now, Shadow Weaver.” 

(It _had_ been a little juvenile, Adora can admit to herself. They like to make it clear to whoever they’re looting that they’ve been had by Robin Hood and the Merry Band. Sometimes... that means leaving jewels in rude shapes on the floor. Weirdly, Bow had been very into it, and the result had been marvellously realistic.)

“And it shows,” Shadow Weaver says dryly, and the guards take that as their cue to move forward as one, advancing on Adora with grim faces, swords held aloft.

The thing they haven’t taken into account, however, is that Adora’s just plain _better_ than them.

The fight that ensues is quick, boring, and ultimately pointless; the guards may as well have just laid their swords down on the floor and backed away slowly. None of them will suffer any permanent damage (probably) but if they hadn’t been so stupid as to attack someone who’s literally _known_ for how well they handle a weapon, they’d certainly be less… knocked out.

Adora’s barely even breathing heavily by the time she’s done with them, advancing on Shadow Weaver with something on her face that could charitably be called a smile. Weaver’s never been one to show emotion, or to allow herself to be trapped, but right now she’s failing on both counts.

“Adora,” she says smoothly, but there’s something like panic in the thin, low rumble of her voice. “I’m sure we can come to some kind of arrangement, hm? King Prime can be very forgiving, when the occasion calls for it.”

In that moment, if Adora didn’t know what she knew, she could easily have run her sword through Shadow Weaver’s heart - however difficult it may have been to locate the shrivelled husk of a thing that allegedly beats within her chest. But they have a plan - a _good_ plan - and also, miraculously, a ray of hope that will be anything but to someone like Shadow Weaver.

So, instead of marring the still-pristine surface of her beloved sword with this woman’s blackened blood, Adora simply leans forward, resting the very tip of the blade against Weaver’s throat.

“I don’t want anything offered to me by either you _or_ that false King,” Adora says plainly, pressing just a little harder when it looks as though Weaver’s about to respond. “The news came this morning - Queen Razz is coming back to reclaim her throne. By all means devote yourself to Prime, but don’t expect Razz to be as forgiving as me.” Then, without moving the blade even a fraction, she turns to face Catra, eyebrows raised. “In fact, you might not want to expect _anyone_ to be as forgiving as me. And I am entirely beholden to Miss Fitzwalter. If she asks me to exercise judgment in place of mercy…”

Catra looks at her, wide-eyed with understanding, before her gaze shifts, cool and hard, to Shadow Weaver’s face.

“As tempting as it is to ask this muscled warrior woman to end your pathetic life, I think I’d quite like you to live. That way I can watch everything you’ve ever planned for crumble and burn around you as you realise you’ve sworn allegiance to someone who has no intention of saving anyone but himself.” Catra grins, sharp canines glinting in the late afternoon sun. “Basically, you’re _fucked_.”

Shadow Weaver has a lot to say about this, but they ignore the hissing stream of threats and curses that spills from her mouth as they tie her up.

“And you say _my_ language is bad,” Catra mutters to Adora as they tie the final - unnecessarily tight - knot around Weaver’s wrists. “I wonder where I learned it all?”

“Pretty sure you were _born_ with an encyclopaedic knowledge of curses, actually,” Adora says lightly, using Shadow Weaver’s shoulder to push herself up off the ground and _accidentally_ overbalancing the newly trussed up prisoner. She and Catra watch with interest as she topples, still cursing mightily.

“You live in the woods,” Catra says eventually, looking away from Shadow Weaver and continuing their conversation like she isn’t still spitting vitriol from where her cheek’s pressed to the flagstone floor. “The _Whispering fucking Woods_. I bet you only know tree-based curses, taught to you by the rustling leaves.” Adora snorts as they make their way over to the window, pulling a compact crossbow from underneath her cloak, a significant amount of rope attached to the bolt she’s loaded into it.

“What? Like _twig off_ or something?”

“ _You_ twig off,” Catra retorts, snorting derisively and punching Adora in the arm. Adora just grins at her like an idiot until Catra huffs and looks away, folding her arms like that’s going to distract from the colour rising in her cheeks.

“Ready to get out of here, almost-Baroness?” Adora asks, and Catra looks back at her with a reluctantly fond twist to her mouth.

“Ready when you are, Lady Locksley.” Adora turns to the open window and aims the crossbow at a sturdy oak just within the Fright Zone’s borders, shooting the bolt with steady hands. The rope unravels and then locks almost taut; she has to hand it to Bow, his measurements are spot on. Adora detaches the rope then jumps up to wrap her free hand around the low rafters, pulling herself up so she can tie the rope tightly around the sturdy wood. She drops back to the floor when she’s done and turns to Catra - who’s looking at her with a pained expression and a slightly open mouth.

“What?” she asks, perplexed, and Catra rolls her eyes. Adora notes that her cheeks are still a little pink.

“You’re just… ridiculous,” she says, then steps towards the window. “Now use those stupid arms to get me the fuck out of here.”

Ah. Adora does her best not to think about Catra’s apparent interest her arms, focusing instead on - as requested - getting them the fuck out of there. She snaps the crossbow onto their newly-made escape line, just like Bow showed her, then climbs up onto the window sill. She holds a hand out to Catra, who takes it and clambers up herself, pressing close as Adora winds an arm around her waist.

“Hold on tight, then drop and roll when I tell you to - got it?” she murmurs. Catra nods, locking her arms behind Adora’s neck and closing her eyes.

Adora jumps.

They make it - because of course they do. Their plans are usually decent, and with Mara on their side this one was choreographed to perfection. Swiftwind greets Catra with enthusiasm when they reach him (which Catra pretends to hate, but quite obviously loves) and whinnies happily when Adora climbs onto his back, pulling Catra up behind her.

“I know you mentioned mattresses and hot water,” Adora begins, but Catra cuts her off with a snort of laughter.

“Apparently I’ll follow you anywhere, so I guess you should probably just shut up and drive this thing.” Adora obeys with a grin, urging Swiftwind onwards to where Glimmer and Bow are waiting for them. With a pair of lithe arms tight around her waist, the newly familiar lines of Catra’s body a welcome warmth against her back, Adora’s heart feels impossibly full.

* * *

**QUEEN RAZZ RETURNED TO HER RIGHTFUL PLACE ON THE THRONE; PRIME IMPRISONED FOR TREASON**

That’s right, Bright Moon and beyond - as you’ve no doubt heard, Queen Razz caught wind of the chaos left in the wake of her cousin’s temporary rule, and travelled day and night to bring him to justice. Her diplomatic travels abroad saw her making a number of very powerful allies, who were all too happy to help her in deposing the man who had, until recently, claimed dominion over us all.

The Queen’s newly appointed aide, Mara Scarlet, was not able to provide a full statement, but she did give our reporter a very enthusiastic thumbs up when they asked about the ongoing relief efforts.

It appears that the Queen has been busy indeed since her return; she has restored land and titles to those who have had them stripped, provided compensation to anyone whose homes are no longer there to return to, and is rumoured to have appointed an all-new council in a move towards a more democratic rule.

Finally, the Herald is delighted to confirm the rumours that our beloved Robin Hood is in fact the - supposedly dead - Lady Adora of Locksley. She’s alive, very much well, and has been working hard throughout these tumultuous times to redistribute ill-gotten gains to the down and out citizens of Bright Moon and the surrounding towns. Lady Locksley, we thank you for your service; I’m sure I speak for all the affected nations of Etheria when I say that your stalwart efforts have humbled us.

Long live Queen Razz, and long live democracy!

* * *

“They’re _humbled_ , Adora,” Catra says simperingly, batting her eyelashes and pretending to swoon into Adora’s arms. “The mighty Robin Hood was of the landed gentry all along! A certified, bona-fide Lady! With a sword!”

“Shut up,” Adora grumbles, pink-faced, trying to snatch the newspaper out of Catra’s hands. Catra’s always been quicker than her though, and this has not changed with time; she easily dances out of reach, rolling across the grass and landing in a crouch. She grins wickedly.

“People are already sending shitty poetry about your silhouette to the Herald,” she says conversationally, holding the newspaper aloft with the hand that isn’t steadying her position. “Some people are proposing, Adora. _Proposing in verse_. It’s nauseating.”

“Well I’m _spoken for_ ,” Adora sighs, flopping off her log and into the grass. “I mean, obviously it’s great that I don’t have to hide my identity anymore, but I did what I did because it was the right thing to do, not so people would send me _fanmail_.” There’s quiet for a moment, then Adora’s reflexes are put to the test when Catra leaps on her without warning. With a yelp, Adora manages to grab her shoulders, stopping Catra’s descent with their faces scant inches from one another.

“Hey, Adora,” Catra says softly, voice low and warm; Adora’s bones immediately start to liquefy - not ideal when you’re trying to hold someone else up, really. “So you’re spoken for, huh? I haven’t heard any poetry about my eyes, or my silhouette, or my-” Adora lets her arms slacken slightly - just enough that their mouths meet - and Catra makes a surprised, slightly breathless noise in response. Her hands come to rest at either side of Adora’s head, supporting her own weight now, and Adora is free to slide her hands into Catra’s hair, tilting her head to kiss her more firmly. She’s _thorough_.

When Catra pulls away, she looks pleased and a little dazed. Adora can imagine there’s a similar look on her own face. Adora takes a steadying breath, moving her hand to cup Catra’s cheek, fingers splaying across her jaw.

“I love the sensual,” she begins softly; Catra’s intake of breath is quiet but sharp. “For me this, and love for the sun, has a share in brilliance and beauty. I desire, and I crave. You set me on fire.”

Catra is completely still above her, and Adora wonders if maybe she’s gone too far. Catra had been joking, obviously, but Adora wants her to have _everything_ ; if that includes poetry, she’ll just have to spend a bit more time in Lance and Charles’ library, that’s all. It’s not exactly a hardship.

Catra moves eventually, holding herself up on one shaky arm so that she can use her free hand to cup Adora’s cheek; they’re a mirror of each other for a moment, breathing quietly in the dry grass.

“Adora - that’s so fucking gay.” Catra’s voice is cracked, tight with emotion in spite of the levity she’s trying for, and when they kiss again it’s almost as desperate as the first time. They pull at each other’s clothes, Catra dragging her mouth away from Adora’s only long enough to deal with resistant buttons and fastenings, pushing fabric away and mouthing at each new patch of feverish skin revealed by her shaking hands. Adora’s shaking too; when Catra presses sharp teeth to her neck Adora cries out, fingertips painting bruises across the soft skin of Catra’s hips with the force of her grip.

“Tell me your merry fucking band aren’t coming back any time soon?” Catra mumbles against Adora’s throat, hands back to their task of divesting both of them of clothing.

“Won’t be back till sundown,” Adora confirms with whatever breath she has remaining in her lungs - fortunately she doesn’t seem to be expected to say much else from that point onwards.

The time passes in a haze of skin on skin, Adora desperately trying to touch all of Catra at once. She’s soft all over, the only exceptions being those places where the skin has healed over wounds, creating minute peaks and valleys on the canvas of her body. When Adora has her pressed back into the ground, she traces each scar with her tongue, Catra’s electric response to the first contact forcing Adora to do it again and again, until she’s pulled back up and into a fierce, biting kiss.

When she moves her hand between Catra’s legs, the noise the other woman makes is intoxicating; Adora wants to hear that noise from Catra’s mouth every day for the rest of her life. She tells herself she’ll go slowly later, that they’ll have space for moderation another time, because that noise has her sliding two fingers into the wet heat of Catra’s body without a second thought. _This_ noise, Adora decides, is even better. Catra practically wails, her hips coming up to meet the insistent rhythm of Adora’s hand, her own fingers coming up to tangle in Adora’s hair and pull her closer.

“Kiss me,” she says, the firm demand at odds with the trembling of her voice and the helpless roll of her hips. Adora obeys - as she always will - and when she presses her thumb to Catra’s clit a moment later, it takes no time at all for Catra to shake apart.

It takes an equally short time for Catra to recover and push Adora onto her back, climbing on top of her to kiss her into an aching, begging mess. Then she shows Adora that the books she read so furtively in the Locksley library didn’t necessarily have all the answers.

* * *

“You had plans for my seventeenth birthday. For us,” Catra says later, limbs tangled together with Adora’s in her hammock, a thick blanket covering them both in the fading light. Adora, eyes closed, smiles.

“It really could’ve just been a pony, you know.” Catra pinches her hard and in the resulting scuffle they both nearly fall out of the hammock, which calms them down considerably.

“You’re a fucking idiot,” Catra says a few minutes later. “Also, a total liar. And a scoundrel.” Adora raises her eyebrows.

“Ouch. Anything else? Want to insult my dead family while you’re at it?”

“I’m sure your parents were lovely. Which is why _you_ come as such a shock.”

“Okay, I was going to ask you to marry me, but then all of _that stuff_ happened, and now it turns out you’re not actually very nice!” Catra had been sniggering, but she stops now. Stares a little bit. Adora’s not sure how to read her silence.

“I was never very nice,” Catra says eventually, then lapses back into silence. Adora takes a leap of faith.

“I guess not. Turns out I still love you though,” she says casually, tightening her arms ever so slightly around Catra’s shoulders.

“I love you too, moron,” Catra says, like it’s easy - like Adora hasn’t been agonising over the words for _days_ , and perhaps even for years before that. Like it’s obvious. “Now are you going to ask me to marry you or am I going to die of old age in this fucking tree?”

* * *

**LADY ADORA OF LOCKSLEY ENGAGED TO MISS CATRA FITZWALTER**

Our deepest congratulations to the happy couple - we were really rooting for you guys. Save us a piece of cake!

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, before I do my usual shtick where I talk nonsense at you for several unnecessary paragraphs, I just want to make sure that a) I credit Sappho for the seriously intense love poetry used here and b) none of you have taken this seriously. Please. Tell me you didn't? I certainly didn't.
> 
> (I did a bit)
> 
> As always, thank you to tintagel for proofing, and for making very valid comments where valid comments were required (in fact, it could probably have done with more valid comments, but thanks for not trashing me babe). Thank you as well to everyone who has welcomed me so gaily into this fandom - I live here now. It's like feeding a stray cat, sorry. This whole thing was incredibly dumb, but I had a lot of fun writing it. If anyone wants to tell me it's not accurate in any way, save your typin' hands, friend - I know! I am completely aware! I grew up having Robin Hood legends shoved gently but insistently down my throat, but it wasn't gay enough and also Queen Razz??? How could I NOT? I ask you.
> 
> Anyway, thanks for reading and WELL DONE if you made it this far. You're divine.


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